It may be poetic or even romantic to think of myself as a leaf blown here by a wind.

But every leaf finds its resting place — its little patch where it knows it may never be moved from again.

There, it follows its course in nature to be reincarnated into another realm.

Now, here in this staying place I’ve found, I listen to where the wind blows and stand out in a path to face its meaning in my life.

The wind.

How well it carries the many aspects of my existence.

Always seeking without taking rest.

Always remaining a metaphor to thoughts I place near my bedside.

Unyielding motion.

The wind carries me along with its roam.

It carries me with its curiosity.

It carries me with its forever seeking - its sleeplessness, and its sometimes carelessness.

I too have traveled and taken satisfaction from my freedom.

Though never fully grasping this swirling natural force, I chase it.

I too am sometimes careless.

I reach for the wind’s coattails to steal me along in its adventures.

The wind sings through those elements it moves along its fluid path through gardened corridors, ancient canyons, and human-made edifices.

I imagine its penetration of the smallest crevasses, it’s travailing with heaven’s rain, ice and snow — it’s white-capping the waters that surround this island to which I’m bound.

The wind ever changes the face of all things it meets.

It carves great arches in the sandstone of Utah.

It turns 12 inches of snow into a 20-foot drift.

It plants seeds it carries from afar to bring new life to a barren spot as it pilfers precious topsoil from crop fields poorly managed nearby.

The wind is a music maker, whether through quaking the leaves of Aspens over a Colorado mountainside, or Cottonwoods across the South – or pushing waves upon a rocky beach in Cape Cod, or caressing chimes dangling on the corner of someone’s front porch with a view.

The wind is a thief who captures balloons lost from the grasps of children at carnivals — children who watch their colored gifts disappear into big blue and wonder how far their orbs may rise.

The wind moves moisture from oceans to heartlands and propels sailing vessels with its might.

In its greatest furry, it can carry birds from one continent to another or bury a toothpick into the cambium of an oak tree.

The wind moves windmills that grind harvest grains, or raise water from deep underground. It generates electricity and waves the flags of our allegiances.

The wind guides the soaring of eagles and butterflies and all other voyagers of the sky.

The wind moves our lives as it moves our imagination. Any elements it carries along are only being assisted in moving farther down their destiny’s trail.

While we’re always thinking of ways to harness the wind’s energy — we can never capture its spirit, nor ride the true reins of its freedom.

When it’s too difficult to express myself anymore, I just listen to what the wind has to say.